Chapter I
The first test came the night of the King's party landing in Winterfell.
As the days went murmuring passed it was harder and harder to think that he was in a dream, and Jon accepted that the gods had given him another chance. Even he could not dream a dream this long. He was determined not to squander it. He would prevent his family's dire fate whatever it took.
Jon was seated with the squires at the banquet as he'd been before, but his feelings towards the royal entourage was vastly different from when he'd seen them the first time.
When his Father entered with the Queen on his arm, Jon felt hatred flush up through his lungs so strong that he nearly choked. It scared him, because he didn't think he was capable of this depth of darkness.
But why should I not be? He asked himself. They destroyed my family.
Another lifetime, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Ygritte warned.
This too, if I let it, he argued back.
It was probably a good thing he was not sitting with them.
He managed to keep his expression completely stoic as the rest of the royal family swept past, but it was a near thing. When Joffrey began laughing at something that Theon had said, Jon realized he could not stay in the Hall a moment later.
He pushed himself up from his seat with mumbled excuses that no one cared to hear, and quickly stalked out. Nobody noticed him go.
Outside the castle was dark and deserted, and Jon was suddenly, inexplicably, reminded of The Wall. He exhaled shakily, but his breath did not mist as it had for the past two years. Winter was coming, but it was not here yet.
More than ever he wished for the company of Ghost. Who else could understand?
And then, as if they'd heard his prayers, or to send him a curse, the gods answered him.
Or rather, a half man did.
"Boy," a voice called out to him. Jon turned.
Tyrion Lannister was sitting on the ledge above the door to the Great Hall, the bleeding yellow light from the windows striking shadowed planes across his face and giving his grin a sinister cast.
There were reports that he and Sansa had conspired to poison Jeoffrey. There were reports that he'd killed Tywin in the end.
Jon was conflicted. He held no love for the Lannisters, yet they were Tyrion's kin, and Jon was unsure how much he could trust a kinslayer.
"You don't like the look of me," Tyrion observed, his grin fading some.
"Not for the reasons you think," Jon said, remembering their conversations on his journey to the Night's Watch. Dwarfs and bastards. It felt like a lifetime ago. "I don't trust your family."
He had not meant to give the warning, and yet the warning came anyhow. There seemed to be some part of him which yearned to give this Lannister at least, some courtesy.
Surprise flashed across the dwarf's mismatched eyes. And then the moment was gone and all that was plain on his face was amusement, "Well well, that's something I don't hear every day. I'm being equated to my siblings. I should be honored I suppose."
"Don't be," Jon said shortly.
The dwarf's lips stretched wide, and then he threw back his head and let out a booming laugh. It was surprising for his little body.
"You boy, are a strange one," he said in bemusement when he'd finished. He pushed himself off the ledge, and leaped off in a tumbling roll. It was just as impressive as when he'd done it the first time. When he'd straightened and brushed off the seat of his pants, the look he gave Jon was contemplative. "You've made your dislike of the Queen's family clear, to the Queen's own brother I might add. And yet you're being almost courteous about it. Well, I suppose if it helps any, I don't trust my family either. Tyrion Lannister."
"I know." Jon paused, and then— "Jon Snow."
"The bastard eh?"
"I think you knew that before you introduced yourself," Jon said warily, searching Tyrion's eyes. He hadn't noticed the first time, but he was certain of it now.
"So I did," Tyrion agreed amiably. And then his eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward as if to study Jon's face, "Though I daresay you have more of the north in you than any of your brothers."
The dark haired boy shifted uneasily. Tyrion had said that the first time too. Jon remembered because nobody else had said it to him before then, and nobody after. He had been so pleased.
Jon felt nothing of that now.
He was not like Eddard Stark. If he were, he'd be at the Wall, and not playing family here. The real threat were the Others, and yet Jon could think of nothing but how to prevent the destruction of Winterfell.
"Made you uncomfortable have I?" Tyrion asked with an unnervingly perceiving glance, "Now that's curious."
"The north can't be held by dark hair and grey eyes," Jon retorted, defensive instincts automatically rearing. He thought of how Robb had once been the King of the North. Of the hardships Jon knew came with command and how his brother must have spectacularly overcame them.
"No," Tyrion agreed again, "but I do have the feeling that you have much more than that." He favored the younger boy with one last grin before turning and sauntering back into the feast with a tune playing on his lips.
For a long moment the four-and-ten child could do nothing but stare after him, wondering how much the sly Lannister had understood about him from that one short conversation. He had been uncannily good at it the first time around, but the last thing Jon wanted now was for someone to be able to see within the abyss of all that he had experienced. He was not sure he himself could handle it.
You have more of the north in you than any of your brothers.
Jon closed his eyes and exhaled unsteadily. If that were true, he would not be so afraid to face the truths he knew.
When he went to bed that night it was an uneasy sleep he had. He kept dreaming of crypts, entrapping towers, and the oppressing cold. The last nightmare that fell upon him was of Melisandre's fire, burning through him just as he'd set Ghost to the torch.
He awoke sweaty and shaky. It was made worse at breakfast, when Robb whispered to him what the King had announced last night.
Father was going to become the King's Hand. Sansa was going to marry Jeoffrey. And then Lord Stark himself said that Arya and Bran would also be leaving for King's Landing within the week.
The eggs served at the table that morning suddenly became impossible to swallow.
"Jon?" Robb asked as Jon set down his plate. It was not even half eaten. He searched his brother's face, before his lips curled into an all too familiar frown. "I know it's not ideal, but I'm not being allowed to go either, am I? At least we'll still have each other."
"Your lady mother would never allow me to stay," Jon replied in a dead tone of voice, head bowed and fist clenched so tightly at his knees that he was drawing blood. It was not the reason he felt like he was going to retch, but it would suffice for Robb. "When Father leaves, I'll have no place here."
Jon did not have to see Robb's face to know that he'd hurt him.
"Jon, Jon you can't honestly believe that. I know that you and Mother have had… differences, but I want you here. You'll always have a place in Winterfell, so long as there is a Stark."
Jon could not help but smile wanly at that. It was an old phrase of their Father's, and to hear it from Robb's lips was to understand that despite looking like a Tully, Robb was every inch a Stark. He looked up. Seeing Robb's expression, Jon almost agreed to stay.
There was a command there that he had seen on Ned Stark, Qhorin, Stannis. There was a reason that Father's bannerlords had all declared for Robb and made him King of the North, and Jon realized now that this was it. But more than that, there was a fondness in those eyes that begged Jon to remember how they'd spent half their days together, and told him he was always welcome now.
But he could not stay. He had to prevent Father's death. Their Father's.
He reached over and clasped Robb's hands in his own, giving them a gentle, reassuring squeeze, "Excuse me."
And then he was up and out of the Hall before Robb could reply. Jon had no doubt it would be an angry one. But he wasn't allowed to be swayed now.
He ambushed his father the first chance he got, pulling him aside by saying that he had urgent business. Father, who had been talking with Jory at the head of the courtyard, bemusedly waved the captain of his guard off.
"You left the dining hall rather abruptly yesterday," Ned commented lightly. "Is something the matter?"
Jon felt genuine surprise at the statement, "You noticed?"
"Of course I did, Jon. You are my son."
Jon could not help the flash of bitterness that swept across him. Then why did you hide me away yesterday? He wanted to ask. But it was childish and not worthy of him. Jon had already experienced his Father's death once, and he did not wish to squander this chance with arguments also.
"I want to go to King's Landing," Jon said bluntly.
The bemusement was quick to drain from Ned Stark's face. He hesitated, "Jon, you know I would like nothing more than to take you but…"
But you are a bastard. You would disgrace the halls.
"Please," Jon breathed. "Please Father. I have a bad feeling about this journey."
Ned only shook his head, smiling wanly as he ruffled Jon's hair, "Have you been listening to Osha's stories with Bran again? I promise, everything will be alright."
No, Jon thought. No, you're going to die there.
He changed tracts.
"Lady Stark will not let me stay in Winterfell."
"Rob…"
"—is not your lady wife, you know that."
"I have discussed this with Catelyn. She'll be accommodating."
"But she'll not want me."
"You have no reason to be in King's Landing."
Jon paused. That was true. But he was never without an argument. "I'll be a squire to one of the knights there—"
"…just so that you can be at King's Landing?" Ned asked slowly. The look he gave Jon was severe, "You would dishonor both yourself and the knight."
The boy of four-and-ten flinched.
Ned sighed, "Jon, I will be fine. We all will be fine. Robert is a personal friend of mine and will no doubt provide ample security. Besides that, I am taking our best swordsmen with me."
"What does it hurt for me to go too, then?" Jon asked, unsure if he should be shamed or relieved that his father had understood the true reasoning behind his questions.
"They will be hard on you in King's Landing."
"Do you think I care? I can bear it."
"I think you think you feel that you are prepared, but Jon, understand this. It is not that I doubt you, but whatever words Winterfell has said about you, they were at least aware that you were their lord's son. King's Landing will have no such check."
There was no such thing. Ned couldn't possibly expect Jon to believe that the barring was purely due to… what? The possibility of having his feelings hurt? "Why are you so against me going?"
Ned's back was rigid from tension, "It simply serves no purpose for you to be there."
There was only one answer then. Jon felt his fists clench at his sides.
"Are you ashamed of me?" Jon asked bitterly.
"No I—what, no!" Ned Stark stepped forward, and put two strong hands on Jon's shoulders. His very grip commanded Jon to look up, and so he did. His Father's face had never been more solemn, "You are my blood, remember that. I have never, and will never be ashamed of you,"
Jon's mouth felt dry. Somehow it felt wrong to ruin this moment with more pleadings, and yet he had to try. "Then why will you not let me go to King's Landing?"
Ned sighed, and pulled back.
"I said no Jon," he said, gently but still firmly, "and that answer is final. Now act like the Stark you are and accept your duty."
He was left without a way to reply. Father never listened to anything more when he used that tone. It was the tone that he used when deciding someone's execution and brought the cool kiss of Ice to their necks. Any further argument would only lose him respect in his father's eyes now.
For one clarifying moment, Jon thought he understood the frustration Stannis must have felt when dealing with him.
Father went then and Jon was left standing alone in the courtyard. He was sure he looked pathetic, because he'd never felt it more than he did now.
No, no, it wasn't supposed to be like this. Why did Father not allow him to go if he were not ashamed as he said? Jon felt tears prickle at the corners of his eyes, although he knew it was unworthy of him to cry over something like this. But he could not allow Father to die and Arya to eventually come under the power of Bolton.
He swiped at his eyes, to wipe away the wetness that signalled his weakness for all the world to see. Jon took a breath. There was one more option still open to him. There was one other who could grant him leave for King's Landing.
It felt dirty to do this rather than ask his father directly, but it was better to sully his honor than to allow the events at King's Landing to unfold without trying to stop it.
Jon left the courtyard then to find Robert Baratheon.
The king was, surprisingly, quite hard to find.
He was in the dining hall, he was watching his son spar down in the practice yard, he was in his queen's chambers.
The last one made Jon blush despite all that he'd done with Ygritte, much to the amusement of the men who told him.
"Mayhap you outta go in 'ere anyway," Cayn said with a wink, "I 'ear that our Queen is 'omething worth seein' in 'er natural self, even if the king irons yer eyes out afterwards."
"He'll show up sooner or later," Fat Tom said, taking pity on Jon, "there's always supper too. He sits by your father doesn't he? You can ask whatever you want of the king then."
Jon didn't have to heart to tell Fat Tom about his new seating arrangements for the duration of the king's stay.
"Thanks," he replied with a weak smile, before hurrying off to another section of the castle.
He rounded the corner in the exact moment another man did the same, and back to four-and-ten, Jon stood no chance. A oomph of surprise escaped him as Jon collided with a bigger, stouter body, and Jon nearly lost his balance.
A hand caught his arm and jerked him upright, giving Jon's body equilibrium again.
"Well well," Benjen Stark said in bemusement as he let go of the boy's limb, "Someone's going somewhere in a hurry. Lots of things to do in this castle I suppose, especially with the King's family here. But I didn't see you at the feast yesterday."
For a moment all Jon could do was stare, mouth slightly agape.
Benjen Stark looked as he always did, sharp featured and gaunt as a mountain crag, but that ever present hint of laughter in his blue-grey eyes. He looked nothing like Jon had last seen him, stern faced and nothing except ill humor in his gaze, and that was only if Jon could even remember his uncle's face at all.
It was only now that Jon vaguely recalled that the first time around, Uncle Ben had arrived in Winterfell sometime around when the King did.
Stupid, stupid, he berated himself, how could you forget about Uncle Ben?
But he had. Benjen had been dead for nearly two years before Jon had been given this opportunity, and Jon had moved on from him. He'd come to terms with his uncle's death somewhere around his time with the wildings. Benjen hadn't been with them, and while Jon had been determined to find him, neither was he naïve.
Robb, Arya, Bran. Those deaths had been a harsh strike after Jon had made it back from Mance Ryder's camp, but Benjen's and Eddard Stark's deaths had by then become a numbing pain. His lord father being alive had been evident from the beginning of this madness, when Jon chose to believe it, but he had completely forgotten about the people out of sight.
"Jon?" Benjen asked, his brows furrowing as a hint of concern entered his voice, "You alright son?"
I'm not your son, he had said last time. He suddenly remembered that with crystal clarity.
"Fine," he swallowed. "I'm just—I haven't seen you for a while."
The smile Uncle Ben gave in reply was wry, "Well, Old Mormont likes to keep us busy up at the Wall. Here now though, and that's what matters, eh?"
"Yeah," Jon said thickly. Once again he felt guilt consume him. By choosing to go to King's Landing, he was willfully abandoning Uncle Ben, even though he could change his death now.
He wanted more than anything to warn Uncle Ben and to tell him not to go out on that first patrol when he got back. But he'd sound mad, and while Jon knew that his uncle loved him, he also knew Benjen Stark well enough to know that the man would never believe him.
Do you think your brother's war is more important than ours?! Mormont had asked of him.
No, Jon thought morosely. No it isn't, but I can't—I can't abandon them again. I can't. I'm not strong enough.
But there was one thing he could do.
"Actually Uncle Ben—if it's possible, there's something I want to ask you…"
"Oh," the amused edge of Ben Stark's voice was back, "and what pray tell, is that? Is it a girl? 'Cause Jon, I'm sorry to say that I've taken my vows, and I can't give you much advice on girls."
Jon smiled in spite of himself. Uncle Ben was always able to make him feel better. But Jon couldn't let himself be distracted this time.
The wall, the wall, the wall. The first thing Jon had done when he accepted that he might actually have gained a second chance was to write a letter for the wall. He'd been planning on sending it with one of Maester Luwin's ravens, but this was better, wasn't it?
He dug about in his pockets, and a moment later he brought out a sealed and folded letter. He looked at it for a long time before holding it out to Benjen.
"It's a letter for Maester Aemon. I heard something about him from one of your other brothers. I just wanted…" The fourteen year old boy shrugged and looked away, as if embarrassed. Let Benjen think that Aemon too was a bastard from a noble house. "I wanted to ask him a few things, is all."
For a moment Benjen looked hesitant, but then he nodded and took the letter, "Very well, I'll deliver it to him."
He wrote about the Others and the way to kill them. Fire and dragonglass. He wrote about the wildlings and their preparations for an eventual attack. And that the Night Watch should consider treating with them.
He'd even hinted towards Sam Turly, being quick to warn against judging a character by a single trait such as their ability with swords. He wrote that with the Wall as it was, someone who began craven might still learn courage and be of great help to the stewards.
To seal it off and to assure that the letter would be taken seriously, Jon addressed it to Aemon Targaryen.
He prayed that it would be enough.
He and Uncle Ben talked about other, more inconsequential things for a while after that. Jon savored it. But then the time for the mid day meal rolled around and Jon remembered again that he had to find the king, and he bade farewell to Ben.
There were others he came across in his search. Robb in the courtyard who stoutly ignored him and Theon with him who traded a few barbs with him before Jon went on his way again. He saw Arya and Sansa too in their lessons. Ayra spied him in the open door and made a face, and Jon couldn't help but grin back before departing from that wing of the castle as well.
He even spotted Bran sitting by himself with Summer at the far side of the castle. He had a bucket of water and a ragged cloth, as well as a bar of soap near him. There was no doubt he was trying to give his direwolf pup a wash.
"Hey Jon!" The copper haired boy of seven called out as he raised his hand in a wave, "Want to help me clean him?"
"Sorry Bran," Jon replied with only the slightest hint of a fond smile dusting his lips, "but I—"
And the words froze on his tongue, as if the paralyzing ice of beyond-the-wall had somehow crept into Winterfell.
Bran.
He had fallen at around this time hadn't he?
Jon felt his heart thudding in his throat.
"—'m not very good with cleaning animals," the boy of four-and-ten changed dazedly, "although I promise I'll try my best. Would you still have me?"
"Of course Jon!" Bran beamed, his entire face lighting up, "It's not like I'm a master of the art either. We can learn together."
Jon smiled gently and made his way over to Bran, settling down beside him and his direwolf pup. Bran held out a spare wash cloth to him and Jon took it with a wry shake of his head, "Let's hope Summer feels the same way as you."
"Summer?"
"O—oh." Jon searched his mind. He couldn't recall, but it was entirely possible that Bran hadn't named his pup yet. He grinned sheepishly, "Sorry, his coat just reminded me of the season."
"No, no." Bran looked down at the direwolf in his lap, a soft smile on his face, "It does suit him. You're right Jon. I think I will name him Summer."
Jon watched as Bran gently began washing his direwolf pup, looking for all the world like the most tender hearted person in the entirety of Westeros. Jon had already decided to save his life this time, but what about the fall?
Bran had dreamt of knights, and even if he did not die at Winterfell, he would never be able to be much of anything without his legs.
Jon might be able to prevent that, too. Bran never fell. Jon was sure that the reason for it had to do with the King's company. He could watch Bran until then, and when the King left, Bran would be safe again.
"Summer!" Bran laughed as the direwolf pup suddenly keened and shook its fur in displeasure, splashing him with beads of water. He leapt up, scowling at the little creature, "You behave. We're only trying to help."
Jon's gaze followed his little brother. Even this Bran would not be able to do if he fell.
But.
He knew how this worked. Robert Baratheon did not know him. His father had made sure of that. If Jon were to make a request out of nowhere, the king might consider it, but there was no way he would let Jon go to King's Landing after his best friend would not tolerate it. Jon would need to ask the king in private, so that King Robert may make a promise then and be unable to take it back later, when his father protested. But to do that, he needed to spend all of his waking time in the king's company, for the king was not left alone often.
And that meant leaving Bran.
He could not be constantly with them both.
"You should hold on to him," Jon heard himself say. "Here, I'll soap while you keep him still."
"But he's all wet," Bran said doubtfully.
"You're already wet," Jon pointed out. "Might as well go all the way. Besides, this way you can bond with him more."
"You're right, aren't you?" Bran laughed. With a grin on his face he leapt onto Summer and grappled with him until the wolf was still. Summer let out a whine. Bran only laughed more.
It was an impossible choice yet again. Ride with Robb or defend his sworn brothers? Be with Ygritte or do his duty? Become Lord of Winterfell or keep his vows? Save Arya or…
Jon closed his eyes, and chose.
